Reverse Interrogation
by gracedUSA
Summary: When ambitious reverse interrogation goes south Sam and Michael turn to one of Sam's friends to save Fiona. Reviews appreciated! I don't own Burn Notice!
1. Chapter 1

Nobody likes reverse interrogation. It's a fact of life.

There's a lot of risk.

There's risk your mark will find you out.

There's also risk to your own operative. Risk that in order for everyone's cover to stay in tact they'll have to get too hurt.

That's why nobody likes it.

But if it works – the rewards are high.

Which is why we use it – though only when we can't avoid it.

Fiona trusted Sam. She'd never tell him that. But right now everything depended on that trust. He stood in front of her with, coat off, sleeves rolled up, standing beside their mark, scowling at her. She was tied to a metal chair, stifling in the Miami heat, trying to keep her head in the game even though it throbbed from previous rounds she'd endured.

"But where is the account?" Sam growled, hitting her hard in the gut.

"I told you already," Fiona barked, "I just bought the guns. They wanted to intercept your fence and sell off the painting overseas – I don't know where they're putting the money."

"I think you do," Sam replied, hitting her across the face this time.

And on it went.

But nothing went exactly as planned.

Yeah they'd brought in their mark. The desperate art dealer with a stolen painting was happy. The cops had stayed out of everyone's way.

But when Michael showed up at their base to get Fiona and Sam he knew something wasn't right. There was too much blood – that was the first thing he noticed. There was no way a handful of carefully placed punches – even a few dozen – could draw that much blood.

Sam already had Fi untied, and she was slumped forward, forehead pressed to the big man's shoulder. Then Michael put it together, she was holding her right hip, and the blood was coming from between her fingers.

"What happened?" he demanded, breaking into a run and kneeling in front of Fi before either of them had a chance to respond.

"Our mark got impatient, pulled a knife and before I could stop him, promptly stuck her with it," Sam said, remarkably calm given the circumstances.

Fiona just nodded a pained assent.

"No, no, no, no, that can't be," Michael said, pulling Fiona's hand away, trying to look at the wound himself, trying to reverse what his senses so clearly told him was true.

But there it was – the knife hilt sticking out from just beside her hip bone – coated in slick blood.

"Okay," Michael said, "we can handle this…and then I will go skin that…"

"Focus brother," Sam snapped.

"Focus," Michael repeated, "Right. We can't take her to a hospital."

"Mike, brother, she needs a hospital!" Sam insisted.

"She's on every CIA watch list. We take her to a hospital she ends up in jail," Michael said quickly, repeating the information on instinct.

"Do you want her to die?" Sam retorted, forgetting for a moment that Fiona was still conscious, still right there.

Her voice was quiet, ragged, "Is it that bad Sam?"

It was that bad. The knife had gone straight through her appendix – so with proper treatment she'd be fine – but without it she'd die of infection in a matter of hours.

They had a promising resource – and they prayed that he could do something fast enough.

Barry was an ex-Navy surgeon. He knew enough to fix Fi's ruptured appendix. They just had to get her to him.

And he was in Fort Lauderdale. Which meant she had to make it an hour without treatment. And none of them were sure if she could.

Michael got the bleeding under control while Sam grabbed the car. Fi was going into hypovolemic shock – fast. The pain from the stab wound, the nausea from her appendix and the panic starting to set in from the shock weren't making for a good combination.

"Michael do something," she whimpered as he finally took the pressure of the wound, satisfied she wasn't going to bleed to death in the next five minutes.

"We're working on it Fi," he said gently, stroking her sweaty forehead and kissing her gently, "Sam's here with the car. We're taking you to a surgeon who can get this all fixed up without getting the police involved. I just need you to stay with me Fi."

"I'm trying Michael," she said, her eyes starting to slip close, "I'm trying. It's just…"  
And with that she fell unconscious and for Michael panic started to set in.

"Sam I don't know if she's gonna make it," Michael said as he settled Fiona in his lap in the back of her Saab.

"She'll be fine, brother," Sam replied, speaking more on instinct than on any true conviction.

"Sam she has a ruptured appendix, and she's bleeding out…" Michael's voice was gaining a desperate edge.

"Mikey, she's gonna be okay," Sam repeated.


	2. Chapter 2

She made it to Fort Lauderdale. And she was laying on an exam table in Barry's office when the pain registered again, when she started vomiting blood and when they all realized that she had minutes – not hours.

"I need to get her appendix out now," Barry said, "and I don't keep a nurse on hand at two in the morning – so I'm gonna need you two to help."

Sam and Michael both nodded, willing to do anything Barry asked to save Fi.

He asked a lot of them. Sam had some proper medical training – Michael only what field medicine he'd picked up at boot camp and from years overseas. Fiona was too unstable to put under entirely – and Barry didn't have a ventilator. So they settled on twilight sleep and a local anesthetic. She'd feel horrible when she woke up – but she wouldn't die under anesthesia. And right now that was enough.

Removing someone's appendix is a relatively simple procedure. It doesn't take long – especially not when there's already an incision. It was only a few hours before Fiona's side was stitched back together – her appendix safely out – the internal bleeding safely stopped – a heavy dose of antibiotics in her IV.

It was only a few hours before the twilight sleep wore off and she came to.

It was only a few hours before Barry gave them the bad news.

"I can't keep her here," he said.

"Why not?" Sam asked – he knew Michael didn't have it left in him to handle this conversation – he watched his friend stroke Fiona's hand, whispering to her and trying to contain his own ravaged emotions.

"I have government officials here all the time – health inspectors, police, it's a trauma center – there's nothing I can do to prevent it. So yeah at three in the morning I can take care of something like this – but I can't keep her here. Not if you don't want her getting arrested," Barry told them.

"Is she stable enough to go back to the loft?" Sam asked.

Barry nodded, "I'll give you oral antibiotics, give her pedialyte or Gatorade and nothing else for a couple days – she'll probably be throwing up a lot for about a week. The antibiotics will help – a lot – with all the injuries. Keep her temperature down and try to control the post traumatic stress – I don't care what she's been through – an emergency appendectomy like that is gonna have some psychological effects…other than that…pray."

Fiona fell hard asleep the moment she got settled at the loft – wearing one of Michael's undershirts, nestled into the crook of his arm, firmly cradled in the warm embrace of codine.

She woke up vomiting an hour later.

Michael did his best – he tried to keep tolerating the emotional strain – but when she finally passed out in his arms, her whole body trembling and coated in sweat – he gave up. The tears came, and he held her, praying desperately that she would make it, that nothing would go wrong, that he would never need to put her through this again.

Sam came up and touched Michael gently on the shoulder. He startled, pulling Fiona closer to him and getting a pained whimper in response.

"Settled down, brother," Sam said, "you heard Barry, she's gonna be fine."

"If her fever stays down, and if she doesn't get dehydrated, and if…" Michael began.

"Woah, woah, Mikey, she's gonna be fine. You haven't slept in 40 hours…get some rest. You need it."

"Sam I did this to her," Michael said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, sitting down next to his friend and putting his arm around him, cradling Fiona's head in one big palm, hoping to take a little of Michael's physical strain as he strove to alleviate the emotional trauma.

"I got us into this mess. I'm the reason we even tried reverse interrogation. I'm the one who got the mark all fired up. If I'd been more careful he wouldn't have panicked, he wouldn't have overreacted and he wouldn't have stabbed her. Heck if I'd been smarter I never would have taken this case and she wouldn't even have the black eye you gave her," Michael said, his words coming in a rush, getting louder before trailing off as he traced the bruising on Fiona's sleeping face.

"Feeling guilty's not gonna make her better," Sam said, "now get some rest. I'll keep an eye on her."

The panic was the worst part – even worse than the pain.

The panic was the worst part. Looking Sam in the face and knowing he couldn't do anything. He couldn't step in. He couldn't stop the rusted pocketknife from meeting her flesh – right above her hip, on her right side – going in a full two inches, right up to the hilt.

Fiona couldn't help but scream.

And Michael heard. As her nightmares upset her sleep, making her toss and turn and cry out – he heard. And he woke her as gently as he could, trying to hold her still, trying to help – whispering reassurances when she woke up and sobbed into his chest.

"It was just a dream Fi," he murmured.

"Except it wasn't Michael," she replied, "he really stabbed me. And there really wasn't anything any of us could do to stop him. And now I'm really recovering from having my appendix removed and from the trauma of intensive internal bleeding. And all I want is for all of this to be over."

"What do you mean by all of this?" Michael asked her quietly.

"This trying to figure out who burned you – this taking every risk to prove to yourself that you're the same spy that could woo an IRA gun-runner in Belfast…" Fiona trailed off, tearing up again and burying her head in his shirt.

"Fi I…"

"Don't give me excuses Michael. Don't promise something like this won't happen again. There's no way you can keep that promise. Just promise me this – when you take these risks – when you put me and you and Sam in danger – promise me it's for the client and not for the people who burned you," Fiona said.

"I promise Fi," Michael whispered.

And then he kissed her, feeling her clammy skin up against him and her shaking hands, eventually feeling her drift back to sleep in his arms.

And, not for the last time, he wished he'd stayed with her back in Belfast, given up on the world he thought he wanted.

Because, not for the last time, or the first, he realized that all he wanted was Fiona, safe and happy in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

She was healing well. Until her fever spiked and the infection worsened. And that night – four in the morning in a Miami thunderstorm – Fiona's heart rate and breathing pattern fell out of rhythm.

Sam, still staying at the loft, sleeping in a chair, making sure everyone was okay, called Barry, told him he needed to come – yes now – and that he didn't want any government officials following behind.

Michael lay next to Fiona, stroking her forehead, whispering words her fever-addled mind couldn't understand, listening to her mumble in Gaelic about missions he didn't remember, missions she'd likely never been on.

"Barry's on his way," Sam said, hanging up the phone and sitting down on the mattress, "he says he can take care of this. A couple injections of fever reducers and stronger antibiotics – that's all it's gonna take – she'll be fine Michael."

"Hope so."

The phone call came a half hour later.

"I have a friend – from the police force – here right now. I told him I'm leaving but he will track me – he knows I sometimes help out homeless vets with medical problems – and that sometimes those vets can lead him to drug rings – so I can't come to the loft. Bring her somewhere safe but neutral. There's an abandoned gas station off 95 – I'll meet you there."

And with that he hung up.

"Mikey I've got some news," Sam said, returning to his friends, watching the uneven fall of Fiona's chest and noticing the glazed, frightened look in Michael's eyes.

"Tell me it's good Sam?" Michael almost begged.

"We've got to move her," Sam replied, "Barry can help – but he doesn't want police tracking us here."

Michael just nodded, getting to his feet instantly with Fiona in his arms, kissing her forehead and still whispering calming words – though, as Sam watched the sweat trickle down her skin and saw the unnatural pallor and flush in her cheeks – he knew it would take far more than calming words to fix any of this.

She was up again, vomiting and incoherent, before they reached the meeting point. Fiona mumbled about Belfast, seemingly caught in the notion that the cover ID she'd fallen in love with was still here now – and that this was all just some mix up with a rival gun-runner – and that everything would be fine when they got to Dublin and her family sorted it out.

Michael, to his credit, stayed remarkably calm. He did his best to keep her temperature down, though she was shaking with perceived cold. He wiped the bile off her face and kissed her burning forehead.

And Sam drove.

Sam drove as fast as he could through the pouring rain – hoping they would make it in time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for all the beautiful reviews! They make my day! Keep 'em coming!**

It was still pouring when they got to the gas station – Sam spread a few clean towels on the filthy floor and Michael lay Fiona down, wincing as he saw her involuntarily pull away from the hard, cold, wet floor. Barry arrived moments later, carrying a tattered duffle that hopefully held the supplies they needed to save Fiona's life.

Barry knelt beside them and pulled out a syringe.

"My friend thinks I'm taking care of a homeless vet with diabetes – I paid someone to impersonate him – so we're all set," he said while he worked, expertly filling the syringe and giving Fiona the injection.

"This is gonna make her better?" Michael asked, watching Fiona flinch when the needle pierced her skin.

"Yep. But I've got her on Biaxin now, and it's not a fun antibiotic. I try to avoid it when I can," Barry replied, swabbing Fiona's other arm and injecting her with something else, "make sure she finishes her course, she'll be much improved in a week, but she'll be sick in the meantime - lots of vomiting, headaches, dizziness. Just be ready."

Barry handed Sam two prescription bottles.

"The other one's a fever reducer," he said, "Just use it as needed to keep her awake and coherent. Call me if her condition changes. Now get her home and out of this storm."

Fiona slept on the shower floor – her head on a wet towel, letting the cold water bring her temperature down. The biaxin was hard on her - the infection abating only at the cost of near constant vomiting and unending dizziness. Michael sat up with her – drifting off from time to time himself, keeping her close up against him, hoping she'd heal, hoping the next time she woke up she would remember him, Michael Westen.

Days turned into weeks and eventually things went back to normal.

Sam let himself in early one morning – Michael and Fiona were still curled up together on the mattress. She was fast asleep. He was dozing, listening to the now-steady pattern of her breathing.

"Morning brother," Sam said, sitting down in the battered green, leather chair.

Fiona woke at his voice, pushed herself up on one elbow. Michael couldn't help but marvel at how much she'd improved. A week ago any movement still hurt her – now she was back wearing heels and yelling at him for forgetting to buy more yogurt.

"Got a client for you," Sam told them, "so long as you're both up for it."

"As long as it doesn't involve reverse interrogation I will happily take down the entire North Korean army for you," Fiona said, getting to her feet in one fluid movement and slipping her pistol into her waistband.


	5. End note

So I just realized (silly me) that there is another character in Burn Notice named Barry - it's on my go to list of all-American ex-military names and it slipped my mind. So no, Barry the medic is not Barry the money-launderer! Sorry about that!


End file.
